


such a pretty face, on a pretty neck

by denouementt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogsmeade, M/M, Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 22:26:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14174679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denouementt/pseuds/denouementt
Summary: “I love you.”Marcus smiled amidst a flash of confusion; he impulsively tightened his grip on Oliver’s hand, allowing his thumb to explore the rise and fall of his knuckles. “What’s that for?”“Am I not allowed to tell my boyfriend I love him?”“Well- yes. But,” Marcus started, clearing his throat in an attempt to ease the redness he knew was blossoming over his cheeks. “I just told you to transfigure yourself into a teacup, babe. I love you isn’t the traditional response to that.”or the one where marcus and oliver go on a date to madam puddifoot's.





	such a pretty face, on a pretty neck

**Author's Note:**

> this is literally me writing flintwood going on a date everywhere in hogsmeade. i'm not even sorry.
> 
> tumblr: scorpiusmlafoy

“I told you to take my coat before we even left the castle.”

“I don’t want your coat.”

“But you clearly need my coat.”

“No I do _not_ ,” Marcus argued, ignoring the icy shiver that filtered from his head to his toes. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

“For _Merlin’s_ sake, Marcus,” suddenly the warmth of Oliver’s hand wrapped around Marcus’ own, cool fingers had gone. The gentle _splash_ of their footsteps in the shallow puddles that had settled along the path from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade stopped as Oliver halted, only the pattering of raindrops to fill the slightly tense silence that had fallen between them. “Take my coat.”

Oliver’s arms withdrew from the sleeves of his too-big, too-warm coat, neck immediately flushing from the cool air that filtered over his bare skin. Marcus stood still, feet glued to the floor as Oliver smoothed his coat over Marcus’ shoulders. Marcus’ eyes were narrowed slightly, but the small smile spreading over his lips washed any sense of faux agitation from his face. He would never admit how cold he actually was – or, more importantly, admit that Oliver was right when he had muttered _“you’re going to freeze with no coat, Marcus”_ before they descended the steps from the castle – but there was no denying how grateful he was to have something covering his sodden arms.

“Good? Right, come on,” Oliver didn’t wait for an answer, only returned his hold of Marcus’ slightly warmer hand before scuttling off again towards Hogsmeade. “I want to get to Madam Puddifoot’s before someone takes the good table in the corner.”

A groan slipped from between Marcus’ chilled lips. “Good table? There is no good table in her teashop. I can’t believe you’re taking me there.”

“Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop is a fine establishment, Marcus,” Oliver argued, accent thick and prominent from the low volume of his voice. “I’ve been there before, it’s not as bad as you think. The table in the corner, there’s one by the window, is nice. The glass doesn’t fog up like everywhere else, so you can people watch while you drink.”

“Who took you before?” Marcus asked.

“Nobody important.”

Oliver shrugged off the conversation; Marcus noticed their footsteps sped up immediately after that, the hem of his jeans dampening from how aggressively he was stepping in the puddles to keep up with Oliver. Hogsmeade was distorted by a mist of rainclouds from a distance, the High Street almost abandoned as students hid from the rain in the cramped shops that characterised the _quaint_ and _idyllic_ town. The colours of all the Hogwarts students scarves blurred through the curtain of rain that intensified the closer to the Tea Shop they moved and, unable to distinguish any faces of the people they passed, Marcus sought to keep staring at the ground until the tinkle of a bell told him they’d arrived at the “fine” establishment Oliver had insisted they visit.

Marcus only had a few wishes he hoped to accomplish during his life and, much to Oliver’s dismay, visiting Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop was not one of them. He felt dirty just stepping inside the frilly shop, almost gagging as the pungent scent of tea and coffee suffocated his senses. A gentle swish of Oliver’s wand and a moment of hot air billowing from the tip of it mostly dried their clothes, only a few raindrops still trickling over their rosy cheeks to tell of their journey through the dismal weather. Marcus glanced around the shop; the walls were cluttered with different plates and pastel-coloured bunting outlining the cramped room. Teacups crowded shelves on each wall, Marcus noticing one smaller, slightly broken, shelf in the corner where teacups with chips seemed to be waiting repair. The lights were hovering above them, rotating in small circles as they cast a pink-tinted sheen over all of the customers, mainly Hogwarts students staring lovingly at their counterparts across small, circular tables. Madam Puddifoot shuffled with great difficultly among her shop, apron catching on the sharp edges of her decorative chairs as she distributed plates piled high with pastries and cupcakes to eager pupils.

To Oliver’s joy, and Marcus’ similar disappointment, the table in the corner was unoccupied. They danced their way between chairs and tables to the one Oliver desired, quiet apologies fluttering in the air as they occasionally bumped into a table and caused a small spray of tea to coat the doilies decorating the wooden surfaces.

Marcus shouldered off Oliver’s coat as they approached the chair, hanging it over the back of his own seat to act as a small cushion. They sat opposite each other, Marcus causing saucers to knock into each other as he reached over the table to grasp Oliver’s hand.

“Hi?” Was Oliver’s confused, but sweet-sounding, response.

“Hi.” Marcus smiled.

“What are you doing?” Oliver queried, smoothing his thumb over the back of Marcus’ hand.

“Getting into the spirit of things,” explained Marcus, tilting his head in the direction of everyone around them. The couple next to them appeared to be cemented to each other, faces completely pressed together so that Marcus couldn’t even work out who they were. “This is the place of love after all.”

Oliver chuckled. “Do _that_ ,” he nodded to the couple, “to me, and I’ll hex you.”

“You don’t complain when I do that in abandoned classrooms or by the lake or in the owlery-”

“I mean here, you _loser_. Of course I don’t complain when you do it elsewhere.”

A throat clearing interrupted them, both their eyes immediately turning to find the source of the quiet _hem hem_. “What can I get you?” Madam Puddifoot asked, the smile on her face so clearly forced. Marcus could only imagine how many romantic moments she must have interrupted in her life and suddenly felt quite bad for the sights she had seen every weekend.

“Just a tea please, extra milk.” Marcus smiled, suddenly feeling quite aware of his hand that was clutching Oliver’s.

“Same, but normal milk.” Madam Puddifoot nodded at their orders, flicking her wand behind her before trotting off to another table who were yet to be served. Marcus watched how two teacups were magically summoned onto a tray, hot water filling them from an invisible teapot.

Only a gentle kiss to the back of his hand pulled his attention to the boy opposite him. “Am I not interesting enough to look at, Flint?”

“Magically transfigure yourself into a teacup and you’ll be worth my whole heart and soul, Wood.” Marcus teased, shuffling his chair impossibly close to the table to reduce the gap between them as much as he could. The table’s edge was pressing into his stomach at a slightly uncomfortable angle, but being so close to Oliver he could feel his gentle exhales wash over his face was worth the discomfort.

“I love you.”

Marcus smiled amidst a flash of confusion; he impulsively tightened his grip on Oliver’s hand, allowing his thumb to explore the rise and fall of his knuckles. “What’s that for?”

“Am I not allowed to tell my boyfriend I love him?”

“Well- yes. But,” Marcus started, clearing his throat in an attempt to ease the redness he knew was blossoming over his cheeks. “I just told you to transfigure yourself into a teacup, babe. I love you isn’t the traditional response to that.”

“There’s a ‘traditional’ response to being told to transfigure yourself into a teacup?” Oliver asked.

“I mean… no. But something like, I don’t know,” Marcus hedged. “I’ll become a teacup if you become a saucer is what I was expecting.”

“That… doesn’t even make sense, Marcus.” Oliver’s face became the picture of enamoured, lopsided smile painting his features with an expression of love and humour.

“You make me nervous, what do you expect?”

“ _I_ make _you_ nervous?”

Madam Puddifoot chose this moment to interrupt them, clumsily placing their teacups down on the saucers. She was leaning incredibly close to their faces as her shaking fingers dropped teaspoons and small milk jugs on their table, almost as though she wanted to know what they were saying to each other. “Anything else, dears?” She asked; Marcus suspected she wanted them to request food just so she had an excuse to return to their table. Her fingers fiddled with the lace trim to her apron, eyes darting between the two. She was met with silence, neither wanting to be rude enough to ask her to leave. Madam Puddifoot remained for a moment, shoulder slumping when she recognised their lack of response was a silent cry for her to leave.

Marcus calmed slightly as she left, lifting the teacup to his lips. “You make me very nervous.” He answered, melting into the table slightly as the warmth of his tea soothed his cold insides.

“Why, though? We’ve been dating for… like… seven months, I think? Yeah, seven. Eight in a fortnight. Why do I make you nervous?” Oliver asked.

“Because I like you, a lot.” Marcus replied, as though that ambiguous statement held all the answers to Oliver’s interrogative question.

“I like you a lot. Doesn’t explain why I make you nervous.”

Marcus groaned, dropping a few sugar cubes into his teacup. He used the motion of stirring the sugar cubes into his tea as an excuse to avoid Oliver’s eye contact. “Because I _really_ like you. As in, like-you-and-want-to-like-you-forever. Maybe it’s not you that makes me nervous. It’s the fact that everything I do in front of you could either make or break us. Does that make sense?”

“Do you think I’m going to break up with you, or something?” Oliver asked. His tea remained untouched, eyebrows tugged together clearly indicating his priority was Marcus, rather than the steaming beverage before him.

“I don’t think you’re going to break up with me _now_. Just in the future.”

“Why would I do that? Marcus, if you add another sugar cube to that cup of tea I will _scream_.” Oliver muttered, gently swatting the teaspoon out of Marcus’ hand.

“Because I’m older than you and the closer I get to leaving school the stronger the possibility is that this stops working.” Marcus explained, gesturing between the two of them as he emphasised _this_.

“This,” Oliver mimicked the gesture. “Isn’t going to stop working just because you’re leaving next year. Also, wouldn’t it logically be you breaking up with me? You know, entering the Ministry and meeting all these important Ministry officials. It makes more sense that you’d break up with me for, I don’t know, the Head of the Department for Magical Goods Importation from East America, than me leaving you.”

After a moment’s silence, neither of them breaking eye contact, Marcus asked: “Is that even a real department?”

“No.”

They melted into quiet laughter, Marcus drawing their joined hands closer to him. He pressed a series of kisses along Oliver’s knuckled, resting his forehead against the now warm skin. They remained quiet for a moment, the surrounding sound of gushing couples and boiling kettles almost muting as they looked at each other.

“I’m not going to break up with you when I leave Hogwarts. I promise.” Marcus broke the silence, elbows resting on the table as he stared longingly and lovingly across at Oliver.

“And I’m not going to break up with you when you leave Hogwarts.” Oliver reaffirmed, finally lifting his teacup to his lips.

Marcus wished he could drink from his tea, giving a hesitant glance into his teacup which now seemed lumpy and grainy from all the sugar he added. Instead he watched Oliver, whose eyes now tracked the students braving the rainy streets of Hogsmeade. The rain hadn’t eased, perhaps even thickened at the time had ticked past.

“I adore you,” Marcus commented, fingers gently drumming over Oliver’s wrist. “I mean, I came to _here_ of all places for you.”

“Are you telling me you haven’t fallen madly in love with Madam Puddifoot’s?” Oliver joked. “It’s a fine place, as I told you.”

“Not as fine as you.” Marcus shrugged.

Oliver’s eyes rolled, face scrunching into an expression of disgust mixed with delight. “That was a dreadful pickup line.”

“Not a pickup line,” Marcus argued. “Pickup line suggests I’m still trying to pick you up. I believe I did that several months ago.”

“Oh hush, just drink your tea.” Oliver smiled, his cheeks now painted rose.

“Can’t,” Marcus hesitantly admitted. “I added too much sugar.”

The laughter falling from Oliver’s lips were worth his mistake, though. He almost wanted to add too much sugar to everything he ingested just to see the sliver of Oliver’s white teeth as he laughed. Mostly, though, he just wanted to keep being the one who made Oliver so happy the corner of his eyes wrinkled; he suspected he’d be able to do that for as long as he desired.


End file.
